Bully For You

I've known many couples in my time that practiced a dominant/subordinate relationship.  I don't judge, whatever makes them happy is none of my business really, but my years of observation showed me one very important thing.  Despite how it appears, the dom doesn't have any real power, it's the subbie who controls the relationship in truth.

That's all the kinky sex for this post, this post is about bullies because it's the topic du jour everywhere.  I've read articles by parents, victims and reformed bullies but not one of them has addressed the real problem.  So here I am.

Let me say this loud and clear:  It takes TWO people to have a relationship, even a bullying relationship.  One person has to do the bullying and the other person has to ACCEPT the bullying.

Put your hackles down, I'm not done.

I'm not condoning the torment of innocents, however I'm not blind to human nature and we are all bullies in one way or another.  It is the human condition to impose our wills on others, have you ever threatened your children with taking away something they like when they're not bending to your will?  Bully.

It's who we are, it's what we do.  But, and this is a very big BUT, only you get to decide what you take on board.  Someone is saying nasty things to you?  About you?  So what? If you let someone else's words hurt you, then you have hurt yourself.  You allowed it to happen, you let the bully in.

It is no one else's job in this life to protect you, it is your job to protect you.  The reason there are so many bullies is because there are so many tasty victims walking around, just begging for it.

I was a fat, angry, surly kid in high school, I got bullied of course.  But even then I knew it was just high school shenanigans, that those kids had no real power over me.  Mistee Martinez, yes I still remember your name, tried to make my life in school a hell.  Whatevs, I survived and learned not to let the Mistee Martinezes of the world get over on me.

Mistee wasn't a bully, she was a lesson.  I saw her briefly once after high school, we chuckled about it.

You are in control of what affects you, if you are not a victim, you won't be a victim.  If you walk tall, if you understand that only YOU are the captain of your ship, then that attitude radiates from you and the bullies will slink back into the darkness.

Physical bullies are a different matter, but only slightly.  I'm pretty sure the reason no one actually hit me in high school was because they knew deep down that I would hit back.  That unpredictability saved me, actually it saved them because I would exact vicious retribution on anyone who ever dared to strike me.  I'm not trained to fight by any means, but I am built to dig in and fight back, not run.

People are like dogs, they smell the fear, the uncertainty and move in for the kill.  Stop smelling like a victim, own yourself, laugh at your flaws and charm the hell out of those bullies, turn them into your allies.  It is not difficult, because the bullies are afraid too.  YOU learn to smell THEIR fear, YOU learn to capitalize on it and YOU change the situation.

As with all situations in life, YOU have the power.  Please stop giving it away.

Soaring on the Wings of Pigs

I've got a long history of loving flying pigs - and yes they are real, just like Jackelopes.

This is from an old episode of the Simpsons when Homer wanted to throw a BBQ so grand that his neighbor Ned Flanders would be jealous.  Of course only a whole swine would do for such an occasion, but that poor little pig had quite the ordeal.  It got dirty, it got wet and eventually it took flight.

"It's just a little airborne, it's still good!"  Homer cried out, ever the optimist.

The Kids in the Hall had a great bit, well I like it anyway, about a flying pig too.  Clyde always looks at me like I'm crazy, but that bit makes me laugh like an idiot.

What can I say?  I have a soft spot for Canadians :)

I even have a small statue of a flying pig in my back yard, I bought it for myself after the death of my once-in-a-lifetime-true love dog Harry.  Somehow that little happy pig reminds me of my boy, I can't really say why.

Oh hasn't this been a long and roundabout set up for something that's not even about pigs?  Relax and enjoy the journey I say, there's nothing wrong with a stop or two on the way to the main event.

Today's post is actually about a person, a really swell guy by the name of Bob Sanchez.  Bob recently did me a tremendous kindness and this is my small way of saying thanks.

That's a nice face.

So we all know that I pulled the book off Amazon because it needs reediting, I asked my writer's group for some guidance and Bob generously offered to look over the first chapter.  He's an author himself, a published author and has dabbled in the dark editing arts, so I jumped on that offer like it was the last hot dog at the picnic.

I sent him the chapter right away, very anxious to hear a professional opinion, and was a little surprised when his first response was to send back just the first page with corrections.  I looked over the page, it was riddled with notes and it was a revelation.  You know how it is when sometimes you can't see the forest for the trees?  There are way too many trees in the manuscript and Bob made that obvious to me with one page.

But I did puzzle over the why-ness of the first page only and then I realized that Bob Sanchez has done this before, generously offered his time and given his honest feedback.  I'm fairly sure he only committed to that first page to see if I would flip out over the corrections, to see if I would get defensive and argue about all my precious words.

Oh Bob, I used to be a chef, I went to a fancy culinary school that taught in the classical style.  I have been critiqued by Nazis, not kind, cuddly Nazis, mean ones that throw potatoes at your head if you're not holding the knife correctly.  I have had my hair blown back more times than I can count and every one of those tongue lashings made me better.

Those Nazis, er chefs, only wanted me to be a better cook and knowledgeable criticism is a gift beyond value.  Please do not think that Bob was a Nazi in any way, no spuds were launched; instead he gave me a no-nonsense evaluation of how I write. I'm a little sloppy, I see that now.

Bob gave me the outside perspective, he looked at the book with the eyes of a stranger and gave me some new things to ponder.  Even the title of the book, The Last Prospector, could be misleading for someone who is looking for a Western to read, not a Fantasy or vice versa.

I'm not changing the title, but am thinking about how to subtitle the book to make it clear that it's a Fantasy.  Which is something I never would have considered without reasonable criticism.

There are three morals to this story:

1.  Bob Sanchez is an amazingly cool guy, so please check out his crime novels.  When Pigs Fly, is quite naturally my favorite title, but there are two other well reviewed titles, Little Mountain and Getting Lucky.  Stop by his blog or even slap a happy thumbs up on his Facebook page and become a fan.

2.  Criticism is not a personal shot, don't take it personally.  None of us can grow without others of us pointing out the flaws in the plans and criticism is a tool not a weapon.

3.  Pigs DO fly.

So thank you Bob Sanchez, thank you a million times over.  That one edited chapter was one of the best gifts I have ever received.  Thank you for your kindness and generosity, thank you for your time and knowledge.

Thanks for not throwing a potato at me!

A Life In Six Words

I recently joined a fantastic writers group on Facebook called Blogplicity.  It is a tight knit community full of very talented bloggers who enjoy interacting with each other.  Lately you have seen some of my offerings for the group, such as the 100 Words on Saturday, and today's post is the response to another writing prompt.

The 6 Word Memoir is based on Hemingway's short story, For Sale: Baby Shoes Never Worn and is an attempt to distill our lives into one compact statement.  Since we are past the middle of the month, many fantastic autobiographies have been posted, often leaving me envious and worrying that mine would be worthy.

But I was assigned the 17th of March, it's a date I could have said no to, could have rescheduled, but these things happen for a reason.  Today would have been my daughter's 29th birthday and I don't have any words to share about her loss.

The following words are all about me, but I won't pretend that losing Brianne didn't bring me to this place.  The following words are not meant to be flippant or blasphemous in any way.

Made in the image of God

Tomorrow's memoir by Vrndavana Vinodini will be found on her blog Just Write.

Everybody Lies

Honesty is tricky business, isn't it?  We all want to be transparent, all want to be shining beacons of clarity and truth, but the light from that beacon can be a very harsh glare.  Not everyone appreciates having a beacon of clarity so close by, so ready to shine.

I have told many whoppers in my time, sure some of them were told purely for sport, but some of those lies were used to cover my own ample derriere.  It took me many years to figure out that the non-sporting lies were more trouble than they were worth, that the telling of them diminished me and trying to keep up with them was exhausting.

As a cook, people will lie to you all the time.  They'll tell you they liked the food when they didn't because they don't want the cook's feelings to be hurt.  It took me many years to practically beat that impulse out of my friends and family, when it comes to food especially, DO NOT LIE to me.  That won't help anything, the food won't get better and the poor chef will think she's done well.

My other best friend Tess is my go to test subject for new dishes, she has an amazing palate that we've spent years educating and will tell me every tiny thing that is liked or disliked.  It never gets ugly, I don't get defensive because my goal is to make the best dish, not just an ok dish and Tess feeds me the purest truth.

I became a truth teller after my daughter died, I had no more patience for the petty and meaningless lies of kindness that are so rampant.  I got slapped up with a harsh dose of reality, that a kind lie is more hateful than any other kind and true love required true honesty.

It's not an easy thing to do every day, particularly with strangers who don't understand that I'm not actually trying to crush their hopes and dreams.  It's not easy to crush my own, but if I don't smack down my own lies with equal or greater ferocity, then truth telling is completely pointless.

I still lie in many ways, I loathe my next door neighbor, she loathes me but we still pretend and make pained and polite conversation with each other when forced.  But to be honest, because I'm telling the truth right now, I haven't gone off on her because Clyde won't let me.  She really has no idea all the hits my husband has protected her from all these years, NO IDEA.

And I lie to my dog, all the time, every day, every moment of every day I lie to the Blue.  I tell him he's my favorite puppy dog ever (lie), that he's the toughest pit bull on the planet (lie,lie) and that I would be nowhere without his diligent security measures (whopper lie).  Ours is a relationship built on lies, my lies anyway, since Blue is a dog, he's very honest about how he feels about me.

I'm a distant third, sometimes fourth on Blue's list of favorite people and he never lets me forget that.  I don't hate him for being honest, I kind of respect it and it's never a lie when I look into his eyes and tell him exactly how much I miss my last dog Harry.

But that's family for you, they are still required to wag their tails even though you're honestly not their favorite.

Hantz Down, Best Survivor Ever

Even though I'm having the family over for a big dinner tonight and should be doing actual work, I have to weigh in about last night's ep of Survivor.

For those of you who don't watch the show and are still reading this, last night saw the long-expected emotional breakdown of Brandon Hantz.  This was Brandon's second outing on Survivor and part of a family tradition started by one of the most polarizing players ever, the notorious Russel Hantz.  Both men are famous for being big personalities with dubious ethical boundaries and a talent for creating drama.

Naturally, the producers of Survivor love the Hantz family, they are ratings gold.  Survivor is a business, it exists to make money, which is why the show is always set in tropical locations.  All that random skin being flashed during a typical episode is akin to a peep show and the producers love to freeze those action shots with generous cleavage on display.

This is a very old reality show, ancient by reality standards and desperate to stay relevant, so the stunt casting began a while ago.  I'm not naive, I know how TV works, so while I loathe most of their 'colorful' characters, I do understand their value.  Borderline personalities are unpredictable by nature and Survivor needs unpredictable, it's what makes the show.  It's the reason I still watch, all the fights, the challenges, the meltdowns a-plenty and the surprises; that's the reality in the TV.

So the producers keep pushing the boundaries and last night one of them pushed back.  Hard.  Brandon snapped, but not all at once.  No, he slowly collapsed from the inside over a period of days and everyone saw it.  They saw his mood swing from aggressive anger to repentant melancholy and right back to anger over and over.  Brandon should have been taken out of the game well before the situation came to a roiling boil at the immunity challenge, Brandon should not have been on that island in the first place.

We the viewers all knew that he was at the very least bi-polar during his first appearance on Survivor, we the viewers openly questioned the producers of Survivor when they brought him back.  And now we the viewers are saying "We told you so!", because we were shouting it at them and like arrogant fools, they didn't listen to the bankroll.

When Brandon Hantz finally exploded at the immunity challenge, the potential for physical violence was well beyond tolerable limits for any responsible person.  Jeff Probst handled the situation admirably, doing his level best to keep Brandon calm, to keep Brandon from putting his hands on Philip.  Probst literally massaged Brandon in an effort to both calm and restrain him.  So good on Probst for that, but...

Probst is a producer of the show, he helped to create the situation so it's only fair that he should be the one to defuse the time bomb.  Putting a visibly emotionally unstable person in a high pressure situation with limited food was a violent situation waiting for an arena.  Deliberately putting innocent people into the situation without their knowledge or consent has to be a crime of some kind, at the very least it's indecent.

The producers of Survivor are happy campers today, everyone is talking about them, everyone wants to know what REALLY happened.  They are making money today, but are most likely not thinking about the long term repercussions of Brandon Hantz et al.  Perhaps the producers are feeling encouraged to push that envelope a little bit further, just to see what happens.

Apparently, they can't see what we see.

Retweet If You'd Like To Share A Comment

The following is a nakedly self serving blog post, I'm admitting it right up front.  But it will serve thousands, perhaps millions, of others as well so this could be viewed as a charitable act with the right kind of eye wear.

In case you couldn't tell, I've been a little obsessed with social media lately, but that's how I roll.  Obsessions large and small have governed my life, it's how I learn and lately when asked what I've been up to, I say that I'm back in school.

It's a self study program, but any education is valuable.

Today we're talking about all the different kinds of share buttons found on virtually every post out in the Cyberverse.  We've all seen them, but prior to my becoming a blogger, I rarely used them because of ignorance.  I did not understand the point of randomly saying, "Hey, I like that."

But in the Cyberverse, every single button click has a deep meaning for the clickee because it's a system driven by numbers.  Every 'Like', 'Plus', 'Tweet' and 'Share' gives us a tiny bit more exposure and moves us incrementally up the search engine food chain.

There aren't any rules dictating what should be shared or liked, it's purely a personal choice and there are no right or wrong shares.  If you see an especially humorous picture of a kitten, the chances are very good that others will want to see it too.  So what if it's silly or has no relevance?  If you like it, share it.

Remember this is SOCIAL media, be social, it's why you have all those Facebook friends in the first place.

Your vote of support can be just a simple click on the Facebook 'Like' button, or that little G+ on all the Blogspot blogs and WordPress also has a button.  If you really like something, share it to your wall by clicking the Facebook icon that is generally near the post - it does not take a technical genius by any means because most of the work is done for you.

Those buttons are designed to be easy to use, to make it simple for someone like my mother in law to share recipes, photos and inspirational words with her friends.  If my wonderful MIL can do it, so can you.  Is your lasagne as good as hers, probably not :)

You are not expected to have an opinion about every site you visit, but if a site does move you in some way, please don't hesitate to say so.  It is only the click of a button, it doesn't cost you anything and you will not be held up for public ridicule when you claim to like Carrot Top.

I generally have my TweetDeck open while I'm online, even if I'm not in the mood to tweet all that much.  I check in from time to time and retweet other people in my network because it's just a button click.  It only takes me a second to send my friend's information about a book, website or show out a little farther, to get them a little more publicity, because that is what friends do.

Would you hold a door for a stranger?  Do you sometimes put your pennies into the cup by the register for the next unfortunate soul who's a couple cents short of a Big Gulp?  It's the same thing, a small kindness on your part translates to tremendous good fortune for someone else.

Ok, comments.  Yes, I'm with you on comments, every site has a different system and they can be touchy, can't they?  All you wanted to say was "Hey, good job!", but nooooooo, now you have to squint, try and figure out what those hideous captchas are spelling out.  Many times it's not worth the trouble, I feel you.

I have no wise words to universally deal with comment sections.  Many times I will just subvert the comment system and go right to the source, I'll find the author's email address and tell them directly.  But you can always find them on Facebook or Twitter, so comment there, it's perfectly fine.  All they want, all WE want, is to know that you're out there, that you're listening and if we have impacted you in any way.

In closing, let's have a Doctor Who quote:

Well I've spent enough time with the Doctor to know whenever you enter somewhere new, press buttons.

Thanks for your time and please LIKE me!

Closed Doors

As a child, I saw my eldest sister walk through a sliding glass door like it wasn't there

She didn't intend to, but the glass shattered all the same into a shower of prisms

I remember the bright bits of glass glittering in the sunlight and the plethora of tiny bleeding cuts all over her body

They were just scratches though, she survived

It’s a moment frozen in my memory, those glittering bits

Opening doors is not much fun, it’s just too ordinary

Bursting through doors, obliterating them into little bits, kicking them down

Asking “Door? What’s a door?” 

That’s fun